


A Fairy Tale - from the 'Dear Rob' 'Verse

by MissyTheLeast



Series: Dear Rob AU! [4]
Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Drama & Romance, Dwarves, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fairy Tale Elements, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissyTheLeast/pseuds/MissyTheLeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale within the 'Dear Rob' 'Verse -  A Tale of Faerie, where Klink has the real Hob for a Fairy Godfather, Hogan becomes Cinderella for a night, and Klink takes Hogan dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Fairy Tale, by Col. Robert E. Hogan

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A tale within the 'Dear Rob' 'Verse, written to fill the Short Story Challenge, that got a little out of hand and grew with the telling -  Klink takes Hogan, dancing
> 
> As per usual, many many thanks to Kat, Wolfie and Snooky for being ace betas, and I would also like to thank Tirathon for a little advice about old sayings.
> 
> And as per usual, the Colonel & gang are not mine, but belong to the originators of Hogan's Heroes, and CBS and I claim nothing but the OCs and the prose.

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Prologue – Or, How Did I Get Roped Into This?

Colonel Robert E. Hogan was staring at a blank sheet of paper. He was the last one in Barracks Two to get started on his short story, and some of the others had even finished. Lebeau had a funny one about a recipe gone wrong, Newkirk about an amazing card game he'd dealt for, Kinch about cars and Detroit, Carter about his pets Felix and Hasenpfeffer, even Garlotti had one about the funny things you find up on the roof when you're fixing it. 

Everyone had something done but him!

On top of that, it was almost Klink's birthday, and this year, this time, he needed an actual gift, and not a decoy for some scheme or other.

Darn it, he doesn't have time for all this! He could use someone to bat ideas off of. Maybe he could dictate it to Hilda? They could flirt, kiss. 

His eyes were on the list of prompts and as he thought the word 'kiss' he realized that he had his story. 

Unfortunately, Hilda was not helping him with this one...

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A Fairy Tale, by Col. Robert E. Hogan 

   
Of course there are people who don't believe in fairy tales – the fools.  
   
London had given us a mission; meet a member of the Underground and get from her a micro film of the plans for the newest version of the V2 rocket.    
   
Simple and straight forward, right?  
   
Riiiiight.  
   
Nothing we ever do is simple and straight forward.  
   
First off, we had half a dozen guys from Stalag 5 waiting to be shipped out, and the sub connection had to be made in two days time...  
   
In two days time, the good ol' Adolf Hitler Bridge needed blowing up again to stop a munitions convoy from getting to the Russian Front...  
   
Which, of course, was the same night that we had to meet this contact, someone so high up the totem pole London insisted I be the one to contact her.  
   
When I let London know about our scheduling conflict, they brushed it off and said that I had the easy part, and didn't I have enough experienced operatives to do all three jobs?  
   
I went back to tell the fellas the good news, and it went just about how I expected:  
   
"Wot didja expect, Guv?  London ruddy wishes, and we obey, no matter how bleedin' crackers it gets 'round 'ere!"  
   
"But of course!  They do not have to do the work!  It would serve them right if we refused to 'volunteer' this time, we have not had a break in days!"  
   
"Well I vote if we put anything off, it NOT be the bridge, I've got some real beauties stacked up just for the occasion, and with it being a munitions convoy we'll be able to use the trucks themselves to help blow the bridge.  It saves time and it's economical!"  
   
"Colonel, Olsen's in tonight, and Mills has been doing well."  
   
"Yeah, yeah, you're right, good idea Kinch.  LeBeau, go get Mills, Olsen and Baker down here, will ya?"  
   
"Toute suite mon Colonel."    
   
It took only a few minutes for the men to come down to the radio room:  "You wanted to see us, Colonel?" asked Olsen.  
   
"Men, the war's getting busy, and we're going to need a few extra hands for more outside missions.  In two nights we’re gonna blow the Adolf Hitler Bridge..."  
   
"Again?" moaned Mills.

"Yes, again!  Mills, you just don't appreciate German efficiency...we blow it up, they rebuild.  It's called 'job security'. " 

The men present chuckled and I continued:  "Now while Carter, Newkirk, Mills and Olsen take care of the convoy, and by the way, Newkirk, you're in charge there, Kinch and LeBeau will take our guests out the back way and rendezvous with the sub, while I go and meet the Underground agent in Düsseldorf."

"What's so special about this agent, Sir?" queried Olsen.

"I'm not really sure.  Except that she's got access to some really high level stuff, and she needs a favor.  Plus, her husband is insanely jealous, so only another woman can get near enough so he doesn't cause a scene.  Snow White is her normal contact, but Hochstetter has been haunting the Hofbrauhaus and she doesn't want to compromise the mission by making him curious about her routine.  So Newkirk, find me some nice size 11s, those red pumps you wore at Burkhalter's last party maybe?  And lessons, lots of lessons, on walking in heels."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two days later, we were ready.    
   
It was half an hour after the last roll call; normally we'd wait longer, just to be on the safe side, but that night our favorite fink was away on a weekend pass back home, so we knew that his second, Capt. Grueber, would do only the minimum required.  
   
Newkirk and his group went first; it would take them longest to get into position, to set the charges, to make sure the convoy went up as planned.  
   
Kinch and LeBeau took the 'travelers' next; timed correctly, the explosion and fire in the distance would send all the patrols in the area running, away from their regular routes and away from the rendezvous point.    
   
I was the last to leave.  Unlike the others, I didn't go out the emergency tunnel.  For once, I wasn't walking the 20 minutes into town, or meeting up with one of the townspeople for a ride.  Nope, I was leaving in style.  Langenscheidt had orders to pick up Klink in Düsseldorf; I'd sneak into the back seat, and Karl would save me the trip in.  Then after I'd done, I would sneak back into the car and pull the latch, (which releases the panel under the seat).  I could roll in and then Klink could sit right on top of me while Hochstetter checked out the trunk, and neither the wiser.  Then, I get out from the trunk, or the back seat, either way.

Another fun way to make Hochstetter mad.

(Knew you'd like that.)

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

I was scheduled to meet my contact at the local Ratskeller.  A local boy made good was being honored for bravery, and so a bunch of his friends were celebrating the promotion, including my contact's hubby.  I was wearing a dark pageboy wig, my black turtleneck, with a plaid woolen skirt, a silver clutch purse with chain strap to complete the look, but decided to forget the pumps and go with flats for the evening.  I couldn't have a date with me, and I'm already taller than average.  I didn't need to stand out any more.  
   
First thing I noticed when I walk into the place?  Good thing I'd gone with the flats; I was already seeing over the heads of half the men there.  
   
The second thing I noticed was that the party was in full swing and the guys were getting rowdy; I'd have to watch myself around these Krauts...one drunken letch, and game over.

I made my way over to the bar and ordered white wine.  I grabbed and paid for the drink and started to mingle, clutch dangling at my wrist.  I was looking for a young blond (who wasn't) with a mockingbird pin on her dress.  Me?  I had a very gaudy jaybird pinned to my shoulder, and we had some pretty inane lines to say, but at least the code was so random that there would be no way that I'd accidentally start the conversation with the wrong person.  
   
The place was packed; there was what passed for a band, (a very good violinist and a decent guitar).  I could see a beat up drum kit, hidden in the back of the band stage, and I smiled.  I could show these folks something alright.  It felt so good last year to pick up those sticks and play!  Even if all I was trying to do was start an avalanche.  I started to wonder if the other musicians would mind if I sat in on their jam, but that was a bust of an idea from the get go.  A girl drummer would stand out far too much, this wasn't "Fanfare d'Amour" after all.  I turned away and started looking for my contact again.  
   
I walked to a table nearest the kitchen: it wasn't my best idea, (too busy, too loud, too much movement behind and to the side) but I needed to be able to see most of the room and yet not be too close to the party boys, who were starting to hit on anything in a skirt.  I stayed where I was, since I had a hunch her husband would be dragging my contact out of the press of the crowd any minute (and I always play my hunches).  Another minute, and bingo, there was a Heer officer, a Lieutenant from the markings, his left arm clutched around a pretty blond with a wedding ring and an obnoxiously sparkling cloak pin that looked more like a roasted pigeon than a mockingbird.  
   
From there it was easy.  I got up and casually walked in the general direction of the front of the place, and let the crowd do the rest.  
   
It went almost too well; amazing how far a spray of wine can project when you get bumped by a drunken lout.   
   
While her husband was berating the unfortunate and rapidly sobering non-com who 'bumped' me, my contact, (Rose Red) and I made our way over to the ladies' room and while I was finding towels to remove the stain and dry the skirt, (and incidentally, check for bugs) I started the code (in German of course):  
   
"That is a lovely pin you are wearing."  
   
"Ah, yes?  This is a mockingbird or so I am told.  Yours?"  
   
"A jaybird."  
   
"What do you think they would call a crossbreed?" she asked with a small smile, almost sure of me.  
   
"A mocking jay.  And who comes up with this script?" I was almost serious, I mean has the OSS hired Hollywood hacks to come up with this stuff?  
   
Either way, I got a soft laugh out of her, and she handed me a compact:  "Here, you may wish to freshen up before we go.  Please keep it, as a favor."  
   
"Speaking of which?"  
   
"Ahh yes.  My favor.  Papa Bear, you must tell London that Von Braun is being watched too closely to risk moving before the Allies are in the area.  The SS has orders to murder them all rather than let them fall into Allied hands.  But Von Braun has convinced his keepers that he is loyal and too important to kill, and my father has assured his life in so far as that can be done.  The man is smart enough to avoid being killed by our own people and he has hidden the bulk of the plans, the location to be revealed in the film you now have.  There are also the locations of the only suitable places for the rocket program to be, so that he and his team can be rescued.  There is more that I dare not even mention, but it is all in the film.  Which brings me to the last, the favor."   
   
That young woman looked me dead in the eyes and said:  "Tell London that they would do well to spare the life of Albert Speer.  He is a good man, but a good man who saw too little and too late.  Now, even if he wished to, he cannot defect.  He cannot leave.  He says that he is all that stands between everyone and Ragnarok."  
   
"Why do you care about Speer?"  I already thought I knew the answer, but I wanted to make sure.  
   
"He's my foster father; he and his wife took me in when I was ten in 1933 and I've lived with them until my marriage last year.  But what I have said is true!  He is the last man that Hitler trusts completely.  All others are suspect.  One minute, der Fuhrer is a cultured artist who loves children; the next a frothing lunatic, and always, always evil.  But even in his worst rages, der Fuhrer will listen to my father and sometimes moderate his positions or allow my father to work towards a different end.  Frankly, he is the only man to have ever said: "The Fuhrer can kiss my ass!" in front of witnesses and live.  
   
"Yet even now, when it is clear to an imbecile that the Third Reich is dying, Goebbels and his cronies wish to fight to the last drop of others' blood, Göring wants to keep his ill-gotten fortune as head of state, Himmler the same, and not a decent man among them.  They would all sell their grandmothers to the Devil if it brought them more wealth, more power.  My father now only wishes to stop this madness and he can only do so if he is there to stop it.  
   
"So, please, Papa Bear, I ask only for my father's life, and that he be tried by the Western Allies, where he will not be tortured, but treated humanely.  He will cooperate fully with the Allies, tell them everything he knows.  Meanwhile, he is distracting those who would order a million innocents to remain trapped behind Soviet lines, so that the German Navy can continue to evacuate as many as possible.  He is trying to get food, medicine and other basic supplies to the millions who are running away from one battle to face another, with only the clothes on their backs.  My father knows that no matter what good he does from now until his life's end will never be enough.  He cannot bring back the dead.  But he can keep the others from adding more bricks to the wall."

I understood now why London wanted me to go; the decision to pass the request on had the added catch of a recommendation: should we even think of taking the death penalty off the table, no matter how much information he gives or how sorry he says he is?  If they're smart, the Nazi leaders are all going to say what great humanitarians they are and that it's all Hitler's fault.  But, if what she says is true, then Speer is doing what can be done to stop the war and save lives, when he could be looking out for his own neck.  He's confessing and coming clean before he's caught red-handed.  That's the difference.

"Rose Red, I'm sorry for you, sorry for your family.  I can't make any guarantees; there are too many 'ifs' and 'maybes' for that.  But I do think you aren't lying to me, so I'll pass on every word you said to London.  If his story checks out, I'll recommend that we follow through and take the death penalty off the table.  But he still goes to trial, and he'll have to do real jail time - no country club - 20 years to life in solitary, most likely."

"That is all I can ask.  Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, we've a long way to go, and anything can happen."  I looked down at her skirt, "The stain's mostly out, so we can go back in now.  I'll walk you back to your husband, and tell him that you're tired and want to leave now, before some other guy spills his drink on you.  That should get him moving.  Then I can leave after.  Good luck."  
   
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx   
   
 I'd seen her off, her husband none the wiser, the compact in a secret pocket of the waist band of my skirt.  Too risky to leave it in the clutch, which already held my forged identity papers and a few real marks.  
   
I knew it would look too suspicious if I ran straight out, so I ordered a beer and sat back down at that undesirable table, looking for all the world like I'd been stood up.  
   
My eyes were roaming the room and I was keeping tabs on the SS guys at the bar, and trying not to make eye contact with any of the men there.  
   
I guess I can be forgiven if I missed it.   
   
I mean, I can't have eyes in the back of my head...I'm not my mom.  
   
Well, like I was saying, I was keeping the eyes I do have peeled for all kinds of trouble.  Except for the last kind that showed up.  
   
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
   
So I was just sitting there, not making any trouble, just minding my own business, when I felt a presence near me.   
   
But that didn't bother me.  There were so many people there, and I can usually sense hostility or belligerence.  
   
This was nothing like that.  
   
It was quiet.  Gentle.  Waiting.  
   
Belonging.  
   
A presence that belonged there, right there, next to me.  
   
I thought it was a waiter.  
   
I turned my head, put on a polite smile and saw an elegant hand, extended, offering.  Puzzled, my eyes traveled up.  
   
I saw the uniform first.  
   
Luftwaffe.  
   
Colonel.  
   
Medals, all from the last war, but they were a bit impressive.  An Iron Cross, 1st Class?  Hard to tell, it seemed to be hiding behind the buttons...whoa, there's a Pour Le Merite too, not too shabby.  
   
My eyes swept up a little farther...  
   
I was about to ask if there was something that I could do for the gentleman when my gaze locked his.   
   
All I saw was his eyes.  
   
They were blue. Like the color of my mom's favorite china pattern.  
   
'Prussian blue' she called it.

I've always liked that color.

Job, mission, get it together Rob!  I mentally slapped myself.  What the heck was wrong with me?  

I blinked and smiled, hoping the disorientation looked like disinterest, and I tried to say something vague and pleasant.

And for the second time that night, I was speechless.

I swear I wasn't drunk.  I hadn't done more than wet my lips on the wine, and I hadn't had a swallow of beer yet.

I definitely wasn't drunk.

I swear. 

So, what happened, whatever it was, was real.

Because I was staring straight into the face of my favorite fink, Kommandant Wilhelm Klink.  Into the face of a man I had seen every single day for over two years.

And I had no idea who this man before me was.

For one thing, he was younger.  Decades younger.  Looked like he hadn't a care in the world.

And he was taller.  Much taller.  Usually, Klink slouches.  Except, once in a while, around me.  And only when we're both in on the joke.  Doesn't happen often.  But it does happen.

Then, most of all, his smile.

He smiled. 

Now, I've seen Klink's smile.  All of them.  Everything from his little nasty 'I've got you now, Hogan' to his 'but a man has needs, my dear'.  And the smile I see most often is that forced smile that he wears whenever he's got to deal with Hochstetter, Burkhalter, well, pretty much every Nazi that walks in his office.

Guess I haven't seen a thing, because if this is Klink's real smile?  Never seen that before!  No, I'm wrong, I have seen that before; my Dad smiled like that at my Mom the last time he asked her to dance at their 25th wedding bash.  Like he'd just seen everything he'd always wanted, and had everything he'd ever need, right there in front of him.

And that smile, Klink's smile?

It transformed his face; it transformed him.

So, instead of ol' Blood n' Guts Klink, a man who even on a good day looks like a dead mackerel (or like our uniform detailer Private Maddy Hill says, 'an enraged koala') a man with a perfect record and an efficiency rating 'just above miserable', who'd cringe at anybody who shouted loud enough?  I was faced with a handsome, gentle, yet confident officer who just knew that I would agree to take his hand, not because he was making me, but because I would want to. 

And I wanted to.  
   
So I did.  
   
I took the proffered hand, and as he shook it, he introduced himself:   
   
"Fraulein, my name is Wilhelm Klink, and I would be very much grateful if you would join me in a dance."  
   
"Umm ahh errr."  Please note how suave and articulate I am right about now.  
   
"There is no need to fear, my dear Fraulein.  No harm will come to you, and I am very good dancer.  You have only to follow my lead."  
   
He brought my hand to his mouth to be kissed, and for once, I was trying to be helpful by lifting my hand up and if he hadn't been holding on, I would have accidentally smacked him in the jaw.  
   
His smile became a grin: "It's very kind of you to help, but allow me to do the work tonight."  
   
He pulled me to my feet; it was a wonder that my legs didn't give out.  Klink added:  "I do hope you like the song, I asked the musicians to play it, just for you."  
   
"For me?" I barely squeaked out.  
   
Another one of those smiles and the music started.  
   
I knew the tune.  The words, too.  It's one of the sweetest songs I've ever heard, and a favorite (even if most of the fellas used to tease me for liking something so mushy).  
   
We started to dance, but I kept banging into him, kept trying to lead.  "Dear Fraulein, I know you have no reason to trust me, but have a bit of faith!  I swear, I will lead you truly, here and whenever you give me the opportunity."  Somehow, I started to relax.  To trust.   
   
We started to waltz.  Klink didn't lie.  He's terrific at cutting a rug.  I felt like I was floating, the dance seemed so effortless.   
   
It may be a cliché, but it happens to be true; the more we danced, the more it felt like we were the only two in the room.  
   
Maybe the only two in the world.  
   
He brought his lips very close to my ear, and began to whisper sing the chorus.  His voice, so rich and sensual, gave me the shivers.  
   
So, I had to sing back in self-defense. I smiled when I felt him shake in my arms.  Take that, Kommandant! I thought.  
   
The music stopped, and we were standing there, smirking like a couple of teenagers, when we heard it.  
   
Applause.  Shouts of "Bravo" and "Encore".  
   
They weren't shouting for the musicians; they were shouting their praises for us.  
   
We were a hit.  
   
And for the spy trying to be inconspicuous, this was not good.

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This was really not good.  
   
There I was, the famously infamous Papa Bear, grand-master of getting into and out of tight jams...and I had nothing.  
   
And it was right about now that I realized that I had slipped out of the real world and into a fairy tale.  
   
Because for once, I didn't know what to do, but Klink did.  
   
"A round of drink for the house!  Musicians, again if you please!"  He bowed slightly to the audience, I pulled off a little dip curtsy (yeah, one of those little half-assed bobs that the Catholic school girls do when the teacher's aide walks in, instead of the full flourish like when the Mother Superior shows up), the music started and this time, Fred and Ginger had nothing on us.

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
   
   
I couldn't believe it.  

I just could NOT believe it.  
   
Oh, and did I mention that I couldn't believe it?  
   
Klink had gotten us out of a huge jam.    
   
And he wasn't done yet!  
   
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
   
He'd paid for the round and while the crowd pressed forward for their free drinks, we were allowed to leave without a second glance.  
   
We were almost out of the bar when a drunken SS Captain turned too quickly and nailed my left foot hard.  
   
It wouldn't have been so bad; just an accident, right?  But my whole leg throbbed from the impact and I could barely hobble, when the half-wit thought he was a whole one and laughed:  "Now Fraulein, a big girl like you had best watch where you put your feet!"  
   
Now you know Klink right?  Normally, you look at him funny and he folds like a cheap suit.  Normally, he'd spook, cringe, and drag himself out of there.  
   
Normally.  
   
And for once, I was all for letting that bozo get his laugh at our expense when I heard...  
   
"Apologize."  
   
One minute, I'd been looking at that s.o.b.; the next, the back of Klink's head.  Took a sec to realize that the speaker was Klink; for once, he sounded like a real officer.  
   
A really angry one.  
   
This couldn't be happening!  Why o, why did Klink - of all people - have to grow a pair now?   
   
I was ready to put a stop to this, to become the clingy, mousy girlfriend who 'doesn't want any trouble', half way to putting my hand on his arm...when I opened my eyes a little wider, and saw... a bully.  A drunken bully surrounded by equally drunken 'friends'; a bully who needed to score points.  A bully right on the knife edge between 'happy to scare the weaklings away' and 'happy to scare the weakling and take his girl away'.  Anything that would draw attention to me, to his 'audience', would tip him the wrong way.  
   
And somehow, Klink knew the only effective way to deal with a guy like that.  
   
Stand up to him.  
   
So he did.  
   
The lout was smiling a too wide smile and started saying: "To whom?  That co"  
   
"Apologize!"  
   
An order.   
   
An order from a superior officer.   
   
An order from an extremely angry 'when I get done with you, you're gonna wish you were at the Russian Front' superior officer.  
   
An order delivered hard and soft, with such subtle menace, that I was cringing.  
   
Damn!  
   
The man's Prussian was showing.  
   
The jerk took one look at the man in front of him, went pale, and started to babble an apology.  

All Klink did, was turn his back, offer me his arm, and help me to hobble out into the street.    
   
He never looked back, and that fool was still flapping his jaws as we walked into the night.

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx   
   
He walked me over to the public horse trough (which doubled as the municipal fountain), sat me down on the wide lip, and took off my left shoe.  
   
Of course, I reacted in the most dignified way possible.

I squeaked.

I, Colonel Robert E. Hogan, USAAC, youngest full colonel in Air Corps history, leader over a thousand men and head of the most successful sabotage unit in Europe....

I.  Squeaked.  
   
Yeah.

Go ahead.

I'll wait.

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

   
Done yet?

No?

Ok, fine....

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
   
All right all right!  Can it!

AS I was saying...

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

   
I was sitting on the fountain's ledge when Klink knelt down and took off my left shoe.  He proceeded to dip and wring his handkerchief in the cool water, folding it as a compress over the nasty bruise on my instep.  Then, he held my foot in his hands, and proceeded to massage the ache out of my foot and ankle.  All the while, making small talk, to take my mind off the pain.

You know, it really was unreal.

I'd never been touched like that before.  Never felt someone who wanted only to give and not get.  Not even Tiger or Hilda or Suzanne had ever held me just like that.  All the others needed something from me, asked for something from me.  
   
Klink hadn't even asked me for my name.  
   
Instead, he was telling me how useful the stars were; how you could let them guide you to far away places, to anywhere in the world, and never be lost.   
   
But 'useful' was only half of it.  
   
"I was high in the sky," he said, "one dark and starry night.  I was cold and alone and miserable, the last one alive that awful day, and I was not sure I would be that for much longer.  There was a leak in my fuselage, and I was far from certain that I would make it back to my airfield.  We had no extra oxygen in the cockpit in those days and were completely open to the elements, so we were told never to fly too high.   
   
"But the stars, dear Fraulein, the stars!  They called to me that night, the entire Milky Way a-glow, and I listened to a music that I had never heard before.  The music was in my heart, not my ears, but the wind added a harmony that roared around me and numbed my fears away.  The beauty of the night sky lifted me up, and my plane too, until it seemed that I was floating, not flying.  The hum of the engine faded to nothing, and I was able to reach up and a wisp of cloud broke into a thousand sparkles of light at my fingertips.  
   
"I flew on, on that pathway of light, surrounded, embraced, I dare say enchanted, now no sound at all in my ears, when the sparks of night faded and the sun cleared a runway to my base.  
   
"I had never had a more perfect landing.  
   
"And there was no fuel in my engine, nor a drop of oil left.  Yet the plane's mechanics were unharmed, and the broken fuselage easily repaired.  My plane flew true and carried me safely for the rest of the war.  
   
"But I have never seen the stars so bright since that night, when they saved my life.  Until tonight."  
   
"Tonight, Sir?" my throat so dry I could barely force the sound out.  
   
"Tonight, Fraulein.  Tonight, we are in enemy territory, as I was so long ago.  Tonight, I was cold and alone and miserable, the only one of all my comrades whom I have known, respected, cared for, left alive.  Then I saw you, and once again heard the music of the night sky in my heart.  And now, you are crowned and mantled with all the stars of the Heavens, and see here! how all the fountain's waters sparkle in the starlight.  
   
"And THAT is a clear sign that we may proceed in safety home."  
   
Klink took off the compress and wrapped it around my foot, then slipped my shoe back on.  
   
I'd had some extremely queer things happen to me and my men since we arrived at Stalag 13; things we don't even believe, and they happened to us!  
   
But this?  Klink, a guy whose luck is so bad, that if he'd plan a picnic, you could make book on it raining?  With ants?  Klink, the man so boring he could put a shark to sleep?  Klink, the guy who can't pay to make time with a girl?  THAT Klink?  
   
So I said the only thing that came to mind:  "Who are you, and what have you done with Kommandant Klink?"  
   
He laughed.  A soft sound, but genuine.  He looked up at me, a look filled with understanding and hurt, and he kissed my left knee as he got up.  He offered me his hand and pulled me to my feet:  "My dear, you have no idea."  
   
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It was then that our ride pulled up:  "Herr Kommandant, please excuse me, I have been looking all over town," and Langenscheidt's voice died as he stared at the man who was supposed to be Kommandant Wilhelm Klink, looking as confused as I was all night - guess it really wasn't me.

"Ah, well, you have found me and no time was wasted.  We will go back to the Stalag and get you home."

I cleared my throat, trying to regain control of....well, everything, when my, um, uggh, what was he?  What is he? 

Let me know when you figure it out.

Anyways, Klink guided me to the car and handed me in:  "I will take you where you need to go; there are too many who wish you ill for me to not take every precaution.  You will be safe with me." 

 

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"You will be safe with me," he said, and for once, I believed him.  

Before he got into the car, he told Karl: "We will take the lady home by the Flensheim Road."  He got in and as soon as we were moving, he turned completely around and had me look out the back window with him, so he could show me his favorite constellations - and scare off the tail that was following us.  Not only that, the Flensheim Road had become notorious for being the worst road in the district; the ruts, the potholes, the bomb craters, were everywhere.  None but the locals dared use it any more, especially at night.  No one would be able to follow us for any length of time without winding up in a ditch or with a busted axle.

Again, Klink was taking charge, anticipating the problem and coming up with the solution before it was an issue.

Klink continued to do all the talking; I didn't mind.  My brain was humming with a hundred questions that all had one answer, and I couldn't bring myself to accept it. A thousand tiny pieces of intel, a thousand examples of 'nobody can be that stupid', all dropped into place: Klink was on our side.  Maybe for a while, maybe for years, but could we trust him further?  What if it was a ruse?  What if, for once, Hochstetter had come up with a real idea, an actual plan that might actually work?  My men's lives were riding on my every move, and I couldn't afford to make a mistake this close to the end of the war.  

I had to keep them safe, even if it meant keeping a potential ally - a friend? - in the dark.

I'd missed a bit of the conversation, so I was very startled when Klink seemed to change the subject:

"Langenscheidt, you did go to the hotel first, to retrieve my things?"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant, everything is in the boot."

"Excellent, Corporal.  It would have made it awkward to have to go back to town for the gift."

The two of us, Langenscheidt and me, said it at the same time: "Gift?"

"Gift."

I could feel his grin in the darkness of the back seat and it surprised me that was all I could feel.  I'd been nervously certain that whether he knew it was me or not, he'd never pass up the opportunity to make a pass at me.  Instead, he'd been the perfect gentleman, offering only friendly conversation.  A friendly conversation that included seeing two Panzer divisions rolling north towards Duisburg, "very likely to reinforce the advance column of Model's Army B at Krefeld, but then again, what do I know about infantry?"

Heck, the man had already given me a terrific gift, and now he's adding to it?

Gee, I didn't know what to say!

 

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There's a small farmer's lane about a mile before we get to the Stalag; Klink instructed Langenscheidt to turn up that lane, explaining: "I thought it best to take you straight home, or as near as I can manage.  The road was so much worse than I thought and the hour is late, too late to invite you for a nightcap without worrying your family.  I am sure that we both have a long workday ahead tomorrow."  All I could do is nod my head; I couldn't even bring myself to ask him how he'd decided that this is where I live.

About half way up the track, he told Karl to stop: "I'm afraid that if we go further, the car will become stuck.  But I am sure that you will make it safely home from here.  Corporal, please open the boot, I need that gift now."

Now I'm still confused and tried to tell him that a gift wasn't needed, that it was too much, really, but he wouldn't hear of it:  "Please dear Fraulein!  I have no one to please, no one to care for, no one with whom to spend my pay.  Let me at least give you a very small token of my esteem, something that may aid you, something that you may be able to use and think of me."  While he spoke, he rummaged around in the dark and found whatever it was and turned to me, and even in the starlight, I could see his smile.

I looked down at what was obviously a medium-sized glass bottle:  "Open it my dear, carefully," he said.  So I did.  As soon as the stopper was off, I knew I was holding a bottle of real Eau de Cologne.  

Klink explained:  "You see, your parfume has been intriguing me all evening long and I realized the scent was bay rum.  Now you are assuredly free to wear any scent you like, but it might in close quarters prove awkward.  With this local essence, you might blend in better."

My brain had just gone haywire; Klink, KLINK, is trying to tell me something, something really important, but what?  He knows I was wearing bay rum and if I use the native brand...

Oh.

OH!

..... 

Crap.

I'm a fool, I'm every bit the idiot that I've always accused Klink of being, and I'm beating myself up over it to the point that I've missed what he just said, again!

"I am sooo sorry, could you please repeat that?"

"Woolgathering?"

"Yes, I am sorry, I don't usually lose myself like that, but such a generous gift and so unexpected"

Klink waved his hand in dismissal: "Think nothing of it, it is my pledged duty to protect you" and then he mumbled something that I didn't catch, "and you deserve something nice for yourself on such a special day.  Well, I must be off."  He held out his hand to shake.

He was saving my life - asking for nothing in return.  Not even a...

"Hey!  What about my good-night kiss?"

It was dark, but not that dark.  I could see clearly enough that I'd stunned him.  I repeated: "You heard me.  What about it?"

He took a step, two, closer:  "On a first date?" he smiled that amazing smile.

"Sure, that's what makes it official," I nodded.

"Well then, far be it from me, not to make it...'official'. "

He moved in, clasping both my hands (still around the bottle) and I had just enough time to figure that I'd let him have a school boy peck, when his lips touched mine and one of Carter's detonators went off in my chest.

Look, I'm usually the one in charge, ok?  I'm in control, I'm the one whose kisses make the girls weak in the knees.  Even when I'm kissing Tiger, even when she ambushed me in the compound, it was still me all the way.

That's sounds God-awful doesn't it?

I guess I don't know what I mean, except that I hate when things aren't in control, my control.  

I guess I'm afraid.  I mean when you're the golden boy, the one with all the answers, the one they all look up to, the one they all depend on, you can't afford to slip up, to be human.  To lose control.

I might have turned into a guy like Wembley, a spit-and-polish-my-way-or-the-highway martinet.  My only saving grace is that I learned early on that the best way to be in control was to get everyone around you to help you stay in control.  Mom taught me how to listen to others, not just hear them, how to respect those around me, no matter who they were or where they came from - to reach out whenever you could, and give the other guy a shot.  

Made a lot of wonderful friends that way.

Also means that I can stay in control, and get whatever I need to get done, done. 

But now, I was completely out of control.  I didn't know what to do, I didn't know where this would go.  I only knew that this was something new and it felt....limitless.

He kissed like he smiled: passionate, warm, giving.  He was laying it all on the line, no thought to caution or safety.  And yet, he wasn't asking me for a thing.  I could just take that kiss, take his love, and not have to give a thing back.  Just like I'd been doing every single day for over two years.

Or.

I could give up control, and trust.  Let somebody else take over for a little.  Somebody who'd lead me home.  Somebody I could trust not to take over:  "... have a bit of faith!" he said, "I swear, I will lead you truly, here and whenever you give me the opportunity."  He'd kept his promise, all right.  And more.

Because now?  I was in control.  He'd kissed me like he was dying and I was his life, but now?  He stopped, came up for air, and waited.  

Waited for me.

I told you, I always play my hunches, right?

So I played my hunch that this would turn out to be the smartest thing I'd ever done; I leaned into the inch separating us and kissed back, with everything plus interest.

I mean, I had to show him who was the best kisser, right?  Right?  Right.

And if you believe that, I've got the lease to the Brooklyn Bridge in my footlocker.

 

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It was our forgotten driver who broke us up:  "Herr Kommandant?" was all he said.

It was enough to bring us back from the edge.  Lord help me, if Klink hadn't been holding my hands so tightly in his, they would have roamed the world over.

Klink brought my hands up to his mouth and kissed each finger, before letting go.  He stepped back, walking backwards to the car, keeping his eyes locked on mine:  "Be safe.  And thank you.  For everything."  He got into the car, Langenscheidt turned them around, and away they went.

The second the car was out of sight, I tore through the woods like the Hound of the Baskervilles was behind me.  Made it to the emergency tunnel in record time, slowed down enough to carefully place the bottle on the little shelf with our make-up and shaving gear, tossed the compact to Baker (who was on radio duty), changed out of my girl duds into pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, flew up the bunk entrance, nearly mowed down Mills and Shurtlieff, (their bunk is closest to my door) and threw myself into my bunk.

I didn't have very long to wait; Klink walked in about 15 minutes later.  It was his habit to visit me after any evening out involving a woman, and I knew he wouldn't want to break routine, especially since Karl would expect it.  

Of course, I pretended to be asleep.

Of course, Klink pretended that he was waking me up.

Of course, we both pretended that this was the first time we'd seen each other all night long.

Of course, and naturally, we tried to pretend that nothing had happened, business as usual.

Naturally, we failed. 

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You see, I thought we'd had it made.

Thought we'd be able to pretend; after all we're both so very good at it.

I was all ready with my usual - “Come on, Kommandant, I need my beauty sleep. Strike out with the barmaid again?” - when I turned my head and opened my eyes before getting up.

And there they were – those damned Prussian blue eyes.

No masks, no words to distract, no hiding. Nothing between his soul and mine.

I'd been in communal showers, gone skinny-dipping, read a few National Geographics, had sex, even made love – but I've never seen anybody more naked than Klink was right then and there, fully dressed, just kneeling by my bedside, holding my shoulder to pretend to shake me awake.

We didn't say a thing, we just looked.

Then, he smiled. 

I'd been treated rough a time or two in this war, been scared for myself and for my men, have hurt and ached and belly-ached and missed everyone and everything from my mom's spaghetti soup to the Holland Tunnel, but I'd never been closer to crying.

He broke eye contact first. For a reason. He reached into his uniform pocket, and pulled out that idiotic clutch purse that I'd forgotten back on the table at the Rathskeller. Some Underground contact I am! What was this, the fourth deadly mistake I'd made tonight? If I'd been out to impress, I'd sure made a mess of things.

He pressed the purse into my hand, then got up and walked back to the door. He turned back to me, with his hand on the knob, and said, “There's a little something in there for you. I had a better gift, but I gave it away, to one who needed it more. You understand. Still, it's the thought that counts. Happy Birthday.”

He was part way out the door before I could get my voice back into gear: “Wait! Um ah, I'll let you know. Oh and thanks, thank you I mean. For everything.”

I'm not sure how he understood; I wasn't even sure what I meant, but he did. Another smile, a bit more hopeful than before, and he left, closing the door behind him.

I looked inside the purse as soon as the door clicked shut. There was some paper there, that hadn't been there before, folded up to fit. I unfolded what I thought was a letter, to find it was a few leaves of homemade sheet music: the musical score to the song we'd danced to, notated for violin and drum.

A real fairy tale ending.

Of course there are people who don't believe in fairy tales – the fools.

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Epilogue 1 – Turning in the Homework

“You wanted to see me, Kommandant?”

“Yes, Hogan! What in the world were you thinking! I've read your story, and it is beyond mad! I cannot possible let anyone read this, I”

“Happy Birthday, Wilhelm.”

“What?”

“I had to get you something that would mean as much to you as your gift did to me, and face it, my shopping options are limited.”

“Then this is for me, just for me?”

“Sure. Besides, I always thought that your old man was a real Scrooge, telling you that you didn't get to have birthday presents because you were born the day after Saint Nicholas Day. So this is for you, just you. And in honor of our friendship, and so my not turning in a story doesn't hurt the bottom line, I'll kick in 10 bucks for the Winter Fund and the USO.”

“Then I have nothing to say but that I will do the same, and thank you, Robert.”

“You're welcome. Oh, and turn about is fair play you know.”

Klink stared quizzically at his Senior POW. Hogan added: “To make it official, you know.”

“Oh...OH! Of course, far be it from me, not to make it 'official'.”

The End?

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: "Fanfare D'Amour" was a popular French comedy film from the 1930's - since it was possible that Hogan could have seen this movie, I can still use the joke, because it shares the same plot as its more famous remake that you may have heard of....."Some Like It Hot".


	2. A Tale of Faerie, by Col. Wilhelm Klink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tale within the 'Dear Rob' 'Verse, written to fill the Short Story Challenge, that got a little out of hand and grew with the telling -  Klink takes Hogan, dancing – told from Klink's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  As per usual, many many thanks to Kat, Wolfie and Snooky for being ace betas, and all who have followed and reviewed.  
>    
> And as per usual, the Colonel & gang are not mine, but belong to the originators of Hogan's Heroes, and CBS and I claim nothing but the OCs and the prose.

   
Prologue – What to Get the Man Who Has Everything  
   
Kommandant Wilhelm Klink was in a quandary: what could he possibly give his dearest and only friend for Christmas?  
   
He already knew what the others were getting the American Colonel.  The entire camp had pooled their funds and resources to fund the escape of a Jewish family that Schultz knew (the man had been one of his toy model makers) and in gratitude, the man had handcrafted two toy airplanes, a Sopwith Camel and a Fokker Triplane, especially for Hogan.  
   
Such a gift was very meaningful, but he wanted to add to it, something just from him.  
   
But what could show Hogan how much he was cherished?  A Christmas Eve dinner, just the two of them?  Yes well, certainly, a companionable evening was in order, schnapps and cigars and chess and conversation.  But there had to be something else!  
   
What had Hogan said to him but a week gone?  “My shopping options are limited.”  
   
Unfortunately, the Allied advance on two fronts meant that his shopping options were also limited; even the black market was getting thin on choices.  Many things could not be had at any price.  
   
He knocked over some of the envelopes containing the submissions for the Winter Relief Fund, when the perfect idea came to him....  
   
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A Tale of Faerie, by Col. Wilhelm Klink  

   
Long long ago, when I was very small, Großmutter told me many tales of the Old Ones (very short and fierce, touchy), of the Elves called by many names, of the other eldritch folk that lingered beneath the Moon of our ordinary world.  
   
Tales that I believed wholeheartedly.  
   
And now, I wish to pass on this tale of Faerie, and hope you will believe it.  Wholeheartedly.  
   
Of course there are people who don't believe in fairy tales – the fools.  
   
It had been an awful weekend at the end of August, 1944.  
   
Our beloved Mother was dead, and now my brother and I had no reason to be civil to each other, playing out old rivalries and foolish petty grievances.  
   
So angry was I by Sunday, I resolved to walk to Dusseldorf.  A few miles with one suitcase would not be the death of me, and anything was better than my brother's bickering. 

I gathered my things and left without saying good-bye.  
   
Now I did not head straight for the road.  Instead, I walked to an ancient grove on our property, sat on a sawn ring, and began to hum an air as old as the grove.  
   
With my luck, I did not expect an answer.  
   
Why should I?   
   
Everyone else was dead; it would serve Germany rightly to lose the last of the Old Ones.

It would serve me rightly, to lose my Godfather.

So it was profoundly unnerving when I felt a hand on my shoulder:  "Son of mortals, what ails you?"

"Hob!"  The deep voice belonged to a little person; Hob was no more than a metre and a half tall, dark shaggy hair, beetling brows, barrel chested, bearded - a Viking in miniature.  As his wont, he wore supple, well tanned leathers in browns, greens and grays, and sturdy boots of the same making.  Whether by day or night, it would be difficult to see him if he did not wish to be seen.  
   
We embraced and exchanged all the news we could.  Three years apart meant a lot of tales needed telling, mostly on his end.  The Old Ones have ways of gathering information that expose the Gestapo as the dangerous imbeciles they are, so Hob knew better than I how the war was going.  

Unfortunately, Hob's people were not faring any better than Germany was.    
    
 "We have lost another seven families, Youngling.  It would have been more, had not your clever Hogan sabotaged a convoy transporting the rest, allowing their escape.  Our people will not forget that debt, and he may need our help.  Tell him."  
   
"Really?  You would trust an  outsider?  You were nearly shunned for claiming me, and I do not think the Council has gained a kinder view of Men in the years since."  
   
Hob grinned:  "You are right; they have not - what is left of them.  But Hogan and his men have won the trust and the friendship of all the ancient peoples.  They are Edain, as you are, and we do not forget our ties and kinship.  Tell him."  
   
I shook my head:  "He will not believe me."  
   
"Tell him you have a message from the little man of the Flensheim Road.  He will believe."  
   
"Hob!  You have been having adventures without me, unfair!"  Both of us laughed, an old jest made new.  
   
"And you have been having adventures too.  I have marked much of your path through the Mad One's preserve; always, your Hogan has endangered you, but has never failed to bring you home safe. He cares for you my Youngling.  Have you revealed your heart to him yet?"  
   
I blushed scarlet; I had never told Hob that I favored the staff and not the distaff - I had never told anyone (and only one person ever guessed) and I had always feared that I would lose Hob's regard if he knew I was not normal in my likings.  Unable to speak, I could only shake my head in a despairing negative.  
   
"Ho! do you think it impossible?  The impossible is not when the task is done.   I love you still, my Youngling, no matter your craving for a man's touch.  He will also."  
   
"But, but Hogan is a man's man!  Women flock to him like starving pigeons on a loaf of bread in the park.  Not even Newkirk has tried, and if any man might gain his love it would be Newkirk, the little thief!  
   
"Jealousy does not suit you.  This Newkirk cannot steal what is not owned.  Hogan may not know his own mind; his heart has never been tested.  Try it and see."  
   
"But then I will surely lose what little liking he has for me!" said I in rising panic.  
   
"Youngling, do you trust his greatness of soul so little?  He treats all men as equals, and has learned to treat women with the same respect.  He will not despise you.  At worst, he will say no, all will remain as it is.  For the best, all of your dreams will be won.  Is he not worth the greatest risk?"  Hob looked at me, smiled and continued:  "I see your doubt.  Have a blessing then; from sunset to sunrise, all you attempt will succeed.  Trust in me, Youngling, even if you do not trust yourself."

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I arrived in the town without incident; Langenscheidt had orders to pick me up at the hotel in Dusseldorf, but I was too restless to stay quietly in the room.  
   
I decided to walk over to the local Rathskeller for a drink, perhaps to forget my sorrows and losses for a bit.  A local soldier was being honored for bravery, and a happy crowd might cheer me.

The place was filled to bursting; there was what was considered a band, (a very good violinist and a fine guitar).  I could see a very hard used drum kit, hidden in the back of the band stage, and I smiled.  
   
Odd, I should be frowning when I think of Hogan and his antics; instead I smile, almost with pride.   
   
You see, last time I saw a drum kit, Hogan had been trying to start an avalanche with it.  I wasn’t in the room to see him play, but I could hear him.  And I heard the rhythms of an expert.  His mission called for him to make a lot of noise; it didn’t require him to play with style, to give a concert level drum solo.  
   
But of course, like everything else he does, he is a thorough professional.  
   
I was wishing that he could hear me play my violin; to protect myself, I play poorly, so no one will remember that I am the nephew (by marriage) of Otto Kemplerer, the justly famous violinist, composer and symphonic conductor.  Thank God Onkle Otto fled in 1933 with my Aunt (Mother’s sister) and my young cousin Werner.  
   
I know all too well now where they would be if they had decided to stay in Germany.  
   
Still their leaving had been a sore point between my father and his brother-in-law, and we had had little news of them since.  At least they were all safe in America, which was my mother’s only consolation when she understood in her last illness that she would not see her sister again.  
   
Unfortunately, that was not entirely true.  
   
Another sore subject; Werner had enlisted and was fighting for his adopted country, upholding the family honor in a noble cause, while my brother and I bickered over who was doing less for the Third Reich, each accusing the other of cowardice.  'Malingerer' was the insult I had thrown at him before I left, and it was still bitter on my tongue.   
   
Why in the world had I said so dastardly a thing to my own little brother?  He had been injured fighting, he had a permanent limp, he had been home caring for Mutti when I could not.  This was not Thermopylae, where every man was needed in the defense and one man more or less would make a difference.  It is not as if I wanted the Third Reich to win...I did not.  

I do not.

I do not want the Third Reich to win.

I want it to lose.  
   
Badly.

So badly, so thoroughly, that it can never ever rise again.

The thought stopped me in my tracks.  
   
I knew when I gave those photographs to Hogan that the Third Reich had gone too far; there is war, and there is terror and there is Evil…those pictures are proof that Germany has gone past all sane boundaries and has brought Hell to Earth.   
   
It would not surprise me if der Fuhrer has made war on Hell and started kidnapping demons to do his bidding.  
   
But I thought it enough to continue to be Hogan’s fool, and allow him the fun of manipulating me (besides, I love hearing the outrageous lies he tells, his voice enchantment in my ears), but he has been overwhelmed as of late.  Still as successful, to hear Hochstetter rant, but how long can even the fabled Hogan luck hold?  He needs help.  
   
My help.  
   
If this war is to end in salvation for anyone, Hogan must have all the help that can be given.  
   
By all.  
   
By me.  
   
I could no longer be passive; I am the last officer of rank in a position to help the Allied cause, the rest are dead.  
   
It takes longer to write this than to think it, but I believe that Hob’s blessing had power to it.  Otherwise how could I explain that I would have my chance to put my new resolve to the test so quickly?

It must sound quite cliché, but I spotted him across the crowded room.  He was a vision in black and red, ruined by an extremely gaudy pin that did not seem to be his taste at all, awkwardly clutching a silver clutch purse.  I could not tell in the low light, but I had to assume that he was wearing stockings, and of all the things that I could have been wondering, I was wondering how in the world they found stockings and women’s shoes big enough to fit a man of his perfect proportions.  
   
The second thing, no the third (the second? I wondered was why he was not surrounded by horny young men looking for a beautiful woman to spend the time), thing I wondered was what he could be doing here.  Dusseldorf was no easy walk, had he come with Langenscheidt?  Was he attempting to escape?  No, escape was too easy; I was now certain that Hogan could leave anytime he wished.

A mission then.

One he could not entrust to one of the others; if there was a fault in his disguise, it was his height, and he would know that, but deem it an acceptable risk. 

The fourth thing I observed, a Gestapo man was looking carefully in Hogan's direction.  Oddly, the man was in an SS uniform, one of the dread Totenkopf units, but every instinct I had screamed that this was Gestapo.  I cannot explain why, I just knew it.

Whether it was something off (Hogan's perfect maleness warring with a female appearance) or mere lust, the man had his eye on my Senior POW.  Hogan was in mortal danger; I sensed that too.

Hogan had to leave, and leave now, but if he left alone, he would be accosted and the instant that Nazi manhandled him...

Only one thing to do.

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I knew it would look too suspicious if I ran straight over, so I went to the musicians first.  I pulled twenty marks out of my wallet and told them to play a certain song.   
   
No, not “Gloomy Sunday”.  It was banned because too many of our soldiers were committing suicide to its strains, and I had no wish to bring the wrath of the Gestapo and SS in the room upon any of our heads.  
   
No, instead, I asked for a song that had been popular even when I was a ‘swing kid’, although it was not a swing tune, a song known around the world (or at least, they played it often at the Royal before the Great War, where I was a waiter – once served the great Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, and Holmes had given me a better tip than money: “Boy, when the shooting starts, keep moving.  Never go back, never look to the back or the sides.  Look to your front, lad, and your front only, and you will be the one who lives to tell the tale.”)  
   
The song is a favorite of mine, and if I was to make a good impression and save my American Knight, (or would he be a Dame this night?  a Dame Knight then), I would need to put my very best foot forward.  
   
   
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He was just sitting there, not making any trouble...in a world of trouble without trying.  
   
He was looking for trouble, eyes darting about every which way, relaxed but wary.   
   
I walked over to him, as if I were a young Lieutenant again, and so as not to startle, I waited for him to notice me.   
   
I was still rehearsing my introduction in my head when my gaze locked his. 

All I saw was his eyes.

They were black.

Black as a midnight sky.  
   
They say that planets, the stars, make a music that is the remnant of the First Music.  If you listen very closely, very hard, with you heart as well as your ears, and if you are very lucky, you will hear it.

For once, I was very lucky. 

As soon as I could breathe again, I introduced myself, in a simple confident way that somehow I had never managed with a woman before: 

"Fraulein, my name is Wilhelm Klink, and I would be very much grateful if you would join me in a dance."

"Umm ahh errr."   
   
"There is no need to fear, my dear Fraulein.  No harm will come to you, and I am very good dancer.  You have only to follow my lead."

I brought his hand to my mouth for a proper formal greeting, and for once, Hogan was not trying to be funny by lifting his hand up and if I hadn't been holding on, he would have accidentally struck me in the jaw.

I grinned at the near mishap: "It's very kind of you to help, but allow me to do the work tonight."

I pulled him to his feet; it was a wonder that my own legs stayed steady, while I added:  "I do hope you like the song, I asked the musicians to play it, just for you."

"For me?" I barely heard the breathy words as the music started.

We were a bit awkward at first, both trying to lead:  "Dear Fraulein, I know you have no reason to trust me, but have a bit of faith!  I swear, I will lead you truly, here and whenever you give me the opportunity." 

By some miracle, I saw he believed me, and once he trusted, we started to waltz effortlessly. 

The more we danced, the more it felt like we were the only two in the room.

Perhaps the world.

When I am enjoying myself at dance, I like to sing along, and this night was no exception.  
   
What was the exception was the way Hogan reacted to my words at his temple; he shivered.  Of course, this is Colonel Robert E. Hogan.  I had inadvertently thrown a gauntlet, and so, my Dame Knight had to answer the challenge.  
   
I honestly did not expect him to sing back.  In German.   
   
My bones turn to water and my blood fire whenever Hogan speaks German.  
   
I wondered if he knew what he does to me.  
   
I know he knows it now. 

The music stopped, and we were standing there, happy as a pair of loons, when we heard it.

Applause.  Shouts of "Bravo" and "Encore".

 No praise for the musicians; they were shouting their praises for us.

 Hogan trembled, hardly a twitch of his hand in mine, but enough to let me know, the attention was as unexpected as unwelcome.

 

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I call it nothing else but a miracle.  
   
For once, he did not know what to do, but I did.

"A round of drink for the house!  Musicians, again if you please!"  I bowed, aristocratic host to the throng, he curtsied (when did HE go to Catholic school?), the music started and if I may say so, the great Astaire and Rogers have met their match in us.

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For the first time in 30 years, I had actually impressed someone that I wanted to impress. 

And the night was still young.

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I paid, (and poor Hogan was still so stunned, he did not notice me pocketing his little handbag for safe-keeping) and we nearly made good our escape when a drunken SS Captain turned too quickly and stomped upon Hogan’s foot, all but breaking it.

The drunken lout then dared DARED to laugh:  "Now Fraulein, a big girl like you had best watch where you put your feet!" 

You Americans have a saying, ‘seeing red’.  
   
I can now say, quite definitively, it is no mere poetry.  
   
I absolutely saw red, and was between my Dame Knight and my quarry before any of us knew what I was doing.

"Apologize" I demanded.

The lout was sneering at us, at me, at my dear one, a man a hundred times his worth: "To whom?  That co"

"Apologize!"

Had I not been so angry, I might have been shocked myself by my tone.  As it was, I was too angry to enjoy the fact that for once I made Goring look like a toymaker, as the wicked bully before me crumpled to nothing.

I helped my limping Dame Knight out into the clean night, satisfied that the fool would not be bothering us again.   
 

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I did not see our ride at the door, and I was afraid that we might have to walk back to the hotel in search of our driver.  But Hogan was limping, and no matter how stoic, he was in pain.

A pain that I was determined to relieve if I could.

I sat him at the old horse trough, a merry fountain of fine carved stone.  
   
It was an easy matter to care for his foot; nothing broken, thanks to Gott, but a cold compress would bring down the swelling.  
   
As I was treating his foot, I spoke of that which was in my heart, I wanted Hogan to know of the last time I had been given a miracle:

"I was high in the sky, one dark and starry night.  I was cold and alone and miserable, the last one alive that awful day, and I was not sure I would be that for much longer.  There was a leak in my fuselage, and I was far from certain that I would make it back to my airfield.  We had no extra oxygen in the cockpit in those days and were completely open to the elements, so we were told never to fly too high.   
   
"But the stars, dear Fraulein, the stars!  They called to me that night, the entire Milky Way a-glow, and I listened to a music that I had never heard before.  The music was in my heart, not my ears, but the wind added a harmony that roared around me and numbed my fears away.  The beauty of the night sky lifted me up, and my plane too, until it seemed that I was floating, not flying.  The hum of the engine faded to nothing, and I was able to reach up and a wisp of cloud broke into a thousand sparkles of light at my fingertips.  
   
"I flew on, on that pathway of light, surrounded, embraced, I dare say enchanted, now no sound at all in my ears, when the sparks of night faded and the sun cleared a runway to my base.  
   
"I had never had a more perfect landing.  
   
"And there was no fuel in my engine, nor a drop of oil left.  Yet the plane's mechanics were unharmed, and the broken fuselage easily repaired.  My plane flew true and carried me safely for the rest of the war.  
   
"But I have never seen the stars so bright since that night, when they saved my life.  Until tonight."  
   
"Tonight, Sir?" I have seen Hogan every day for two years, but never have I seen him so lost as now.  
   
"Tonight, Fraulein.  Tonight, we are in enemy territory, as I was so long ago.  Tonight, I was cold and alone and miserable, the only one of all my comrades whom I have known, respected, cared for, left alive.  Then I saw you, and once again heard the music of the night sky in my heart.  And now, you are crowned and mantled with all the stars of the Heavens, and see here! how all the fountain's waters sparkle in the starlight.  
   
"And THAT is a clear sign that we may proceed in safety home."  
   
I removed and re-wrapped the compress around his foot, then slipped the shoe on.  
   
My own Aschenputtel.  
   
"Who are you, and what have you done with Kommandant Klink?"  
   
That won a laugh from me.  I looked up and saw not mockery, but wonder in his eyes, dark with surprise and lit with stars.  Had I turned into a Prinze, then?  Nay, my Fae guardian had no glamour left for me, I was still only Klink.  But I could not forbear kissing his left knee as I rose and then pulled him to his feet:  "My dear, you have no idea."  
   
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It was then that our chauffeur arrived:  "Herr Kommandant, please excuse me, I have been looking all over town," and Langenscheidt's voice died, looking as if I were a stranger that he had mistaken for another – could Hob have truly enchanted me?

"Ah, well, you have found me and no time was wasted.  We will go back to the Stalag and get you home."

And home we needed to go; there were several loitering Gestapo looking at us strangely.  Perhaps der Fuhrer had outlawed kindness and civility while I was in the country:  "I will take you where you need to go; there are too many who wish you ill for me to not take every precaution.  You will be safe with me." 

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"You will be safe with me," I said, and I was bending every bit of knowledge that I possessed to make that statement true.  

So I instructed our good Corporal: "We will take the lady home by the Flensheim Road," ignoring his stunned gaping.  We were taking a chance, a risk, but I found that I had faith in Langenscheidt’s ability to get us through the quagmire the road had become presently.  It was safer than allowing the Gestapo to follow us unimpeded.    
   
Here, I must confess: I would love to take credit for frightening the Gestapo away by showing Hogan my favorite constellations out of the rear window, but I cannot.  I really just wanted Hogan to know that I was not always a boring incompetent fool, so I was showing off.  It was pure luck that the Gestapo did not wish to be seen following us, and so they let us get too far ahead, foiling their intent. 

I also would have fiendishly enjoyed romancing and making advances at my Dame Knight; after all 'turn about is fair play' and I have been the butt of many of Hogan's pranks and jokes.  Instead, I found that I wanted Hogan to be comfortable with me.  I wanted him to like me.  So, I was the perfect gentleman, offering only friendly conversation.  If that included two Panzer divisions, Duisburg, Army B and Krefeld, what was the harm?  After all, who could he tell, London?

"Langenscheidt, you did go to the hotel first, to retrieve my things?"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant, everything is in the boot."

"Excellent, Corporal.  It would have made it awkward to have to go back to town for the gift."

Both of my companions: "Gift?"

"Gift."  
   
I love confusing Hogan; now I know why he finds it so enjoyable when he does it to me.

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There is a small farmer's lane about a few kilometres away from our Stalag, so I instructed Langenscheidt to follow it: "I thought it best to take you straight home, or as near as I can manage.  The road was so much worse than I thought and the hour is late, too late to invite you for a nightcap without worrying your family.  I am sure that we both have a long workday ahead tomorrow."  As badly as I wished to prolong the evening, I knew that his ‘family’ would become anxious.  Newkirk especially.  Frankly, I do not wish either of us to deal with an anxious Newkirk.

About half way up the track, I told Langenscheidt to stop: "I'm afraid that if we go further, the car will become stuck.  But I am sure that you will make it safely home from here.  Corporal, please open the boot, I need that gift now."

Hogan was so far beyond his ken, he was babbling (or perhaps he was deep within his role of the shy, polite Fraulein, who must not accept gifts from strangers):  "Please dear Fraulein!  I have no one to please, no one to care for, no one with whom to spend my pay.  Let me at least give you a very small token of my esteem, something that may aid you, something that you may be able to use and think of me."  We could not speak freely, as I do not wish to incriminate Langenscheidt, but I need him to have this, as it may save him on his next foray. 

I handed him a bottle of Eau de Cologne (the other brand, No. 4711, is more associated with the Navy and the SS officers seem to favor it and I want nothing of them on him):  "Open it my dear, carefully,"

I explained:  "You see, your parfume has been intriguing me all evening long and I realized the scent was bay rum.  Now you are assuredly free to wear any scent you like, but it might in close quarters prove awkward.  With this local essence, you might blend in better."

From the look on his face, it was clear he had arrived at the same conclusion as I.  
   
Good.  He accepts the help and the gift.  
   
Now to convince him of the rest.

"Fraulein, I am certain this is not the last we will see of each other.  You work hard, perhaps too hard, and in these hard times, it is no shame to seek help.  Please, allow me to help.  You, and your family, need a friend, and I fear that I am all that is left since July.  Please.  I would gladly die to help you and yours."    
    
My Dame Knight was oddly silent, then...

"I am sooo sorry, could you please repeat that?"

"Woolgathering?"

"Yes, I am sorry, I don't usually lose myself like that, but such a generous gift and so unexpected"

I dismissed his concern: "Think nothing of it, it is my pledged duty to protect you" and then I mumbled, “even from yourself” then louder "and you deserve something nice for yourself on such a special day.  Well, I must be off."    
   
I expected naught more than a handshake; what should I expect?  Hogan still had his mission to complete, and he would surely require some time to ponder the meaning of my offer under its fair cloak.

To then say I was, was well was, um what is that strange word you Americans use?  Ah yes!  Flabbergasted!  I was flabbergasted when Hogan near shouted:

"Hey!  What about my good-night kiss?"

When I said nothing, what could I say, I thought I had been struck by lightning, he repeated:  
   
"You heard me.  What about it?"

"On a first date?" (there IS a God and he does not hate me).

"Sure, that's what makes it official," he nodded.

"Well then, far be it from me, not to make it...'official'. "

I clasped both my hands around his and brought our lips together.  
   
I knew this was my one chance, perhaps my only chance, to tell you how much you mean to me. I held nothing back. My every thought, my every prayer, my every hope that I might have for you, for me, for us, was in my kiss.  
   
My Robert...please take it. Please take me. I know I am not very much of a gift, but I am all I have to give. I am the widow's mite, do with me what you will. I give myself to you for the use of you and yours. And I renounce utterly and forever this evil Third Reich. I will not support a fatherland that torments his wife and leaves his children in misery.

Then I did the hardest thing I have ever done; I stopped.  I waited.  

Waited for my Dame Knight.

I would wait, will wait, forever.

After all, I have waited a lifetime, what matter a few minutes more?

And then, I knew.

There IS a God, and he does not hate me.

My Dame Knight, my Hogan, my Robert.

Kissed me back.  
   
Were it a competition, I judge it a tie; you loved me as I love you.

No man can ask for more, nor better.  
 

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It was our forgotten driver who suddenly decided to remind us that we were not in Brocéliande:  "Herr Kommandant?" was all he said.

It was enough.  

My control would have shattered had the feelings lasted a moment more.  As it was, I could not help kissing each of his clever fingers before letting go.    
   
"Be safe,” I said, “And thank you.  For everything."    
   
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I ran up the steps of the Kommandantur, all but breaking the door in my haste to get in.  I stood in my living quarters, stood there, panting, while Langenscheidt placed my bag in my bedroom and left, staring at me all the while.  
   
Poor fellow was confused too.  
   
I stood there, amazed at my night.  
   
Amazed at myself.  
   
But I must bring myself back to Earth; I must act normally.  
   
I must go meet with Hogan; no matter the hour, I always do.  But I must give him time.  Perhaps I will play my violin?  
   
No!  Far better!  I gave Hogan's gift to my Fraulein - now, there was time to give him something from me.  
   
Something that he would like, just because he would like it.  
   
   
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I barged in as soon as I could, and nearly caught Mills and Shurtlieff not pretending to sleep, (their bunk is closest to his door).

Of course, he pretended to be asleep.  
   
Of course, I pretended that I was waking him up.  
   
Of course, we both pretended that this was the first time we had seen each other all this night long.  
   
Of course, and naturally, we tried to pretend that nothing had happened, business as usual.  
   
Naturally, we failed.   
   
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
   
   
I knelt by his side, pretending to rouse him as was my wont, my hand on his shoulder.  
   
I was waiting for his usual quip, but it never came.  
   
He opened his eyes, and looked into mine.  
   
Not a thing said, we merely looked.  
   
Then, my Hogan smiled a crooked smile.   
   
I thought my heart would break.  
   
He knew.  
   
Even if he did not yet understand, he knew.  
   
And that was enough.  
   
I looked away to return the purse to him.  He would come back to his usual self shortly and there was no need to ruin the evening with needless distress.  I pressed the purse into his hand, then got up and walked back to the door.  Before I left, I said, “There's a little something in there for you.  I had a better gift, but I gave it away, to one who needed it more.  You understand.   Still, it is the thought that counts.  Happy Birthday.”  
   
As I was leaving, Hogan’s voice followed:  “Wait!  Um ah, I'll let you know.  Oh and thanks, thank you I mean.  For everything.”  
   
He understood.  
   
And that was better.  
   
Not an ending, a new fairy tale beginning.  
   
Of course there are people who don't believe in fairy tales – the fools.  
   
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Epilogue 2 – Turning in the Homework, part 2  
   
Christmas Eve, 1944  
   
Hogan looked up from the paper; he looked solemn:  "You really do mean it; I'm your fella?"  
   
Klink opted for simplicity: "Yes."  
   
"Then I think it's time to make it official."  
   
Hogan could hear Klink gulp:  "Official?"  
   
"Official."  Hogan's trademark smirk was in place as he took Klink's hand.  They walked into the bedroom and into the future and into legends.  
   
Officially.  
   
The End?  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Since I am taking Snooky's advice and adding this to my original tale, I would like to thank dust on the wind, FireLordCastiel, Snooky and GuardGirl2 for reviewing the previous chapter.
> 
> Aschenputtel is the German version of Cinderella, and yes, I did go there and drag in Conan-Doyle, Hellboy, and Tolkien. 
> 
> "Gloomy Sunday" is a real song, first published in 1933 by the Hungarian composer Rezső Seress as a lament of despair over war. The tune was very popular, but the Hungarian poet László Jávor then changed the lyrics to a suicide note from a man whose lover has died, and those lyrics took off, and were first recorded in Hungarian in 1935, when it became known as the Hungarian Suicide Song. The song was translated into English and recorded under two different versions in 1936 (one of the versions sung by Paul Robeson) and then made its biggest impact as an international hit for Billie Holliday in 1941. See Wikipedia for more details. The legend that the song caused people to commit suicide (and was therefore banned) was used as a minor plot point in the book, "Schindler's List". 
> 
> Also, there will be another chapter, to tie up a loose end and cause another...all part of the master plan...bbbaahhhwwwwahahahaha!


	3. Chapter 3 - The Road Goes Ever On, But This Is Not How The Story Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tale within the 'Dear Rob' 'Verse, what happens after Klink takes Hogan dancing – final double epilogue where Hogan gets some new Unsung Heroes, while an enemy worthy of Hogan's mettle starts making some mental connections and drawing conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, many many thanks to Kat, Wolfie and Snooky (and adding the lady known as Goldleaf83) for beta-ing and all who have followed and reviewed.  Also, continuing gratitude to Zevkia for creating a stinker like Faust and allowing me to let him do 'that voodoo that (he) do so well' (modified quote from Hedley Lamar in 'Blazing Saddles') as well as borrow liberally from her published headcanon.
> 
> And as per usual, the Colonel & gang are not mine, but belong to the originators of Hogan's Heroes, and CBS and I claim nothing but the OCs and the prose.

Epilogue 3 – Finding the Way

It was almost Thanksgiving, and all the barracks chiefs had been invited, as well as a few select friends.  
   
Hogan had wanted to give his fink good news much sooner, had wanted to bring him in as part of the operation, but in listening to the others, he'd found a great deal of resistance.  
   
From the expected:  “Beggin' the Guv'ner's pardon but are you bleedin' bonkers?” (Did anyone expect anything else from Newkirk?)  
   
To the unexpected:  “Nein, Colonel,” said the German Resistance leader known as the Huntsman (better known as Pvt. Otto Wagner, one of the Barracks 9 guards), “Klink's heart may be in the right place, but there is too much pressure from Berlin.  Klink will never be able to fool the Gestapo for long; let him stay stupid for a while longer, and once the Nazis are too busy hiding to care, then we can reveal ourselves.”  
   
So in September, instead of Klink, 20 of his guards had been vetted by both the barracks leaders and the Resistance; chief among them Schultz, Langenscheidt and Dingle, and invited to 'formally, but unofficially' defect.

They all accepted.

Their willing help meant that the operation could expand at less risk over all.  Hogan now had 20 men who could speak fluent German, legitimately leave camp during the day, do the simple (and now less dangerous, since none of the papers or identities were fake) milk runs, which freed up the experienced Allies for other duties.

But while getting around Klink was still a fun way of spending an afternoon, everyone agreed (grudgingly or not) that it would be easier and safer to bring Klink completely into the fold.  Even his toughest detractor (Newkirk, who else?) could see that Klink had done everything he could to help the missions along, while still having no idea what he was doing.  

So today was his formal induction into the world beneath his feet.

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Hogan couldn't help the smirk on his face, nor the twinkle in his eyes; it was hard to tell who was more excited, the guides or the newest recruit.  Carter and Shurtlieff had each grabbed a hand, and were leading Klink around for all the world as if he was their Dad being dragged through the piers at Coney Island.  And like a dad being put through his paces at the fair, Klink was by turns amazed, frustrated, amused, frazzled, elated and nauseous.  Sometimes all at once.    
   
Now Klink knew his Hogan was brilliant and that Kinchloe was not too far behind.  He knew that Newkirk could steal the keys from St. Peter.  He knew that LeBeau was fire and spice and the finest French chef he had ever encountered (and the only one he could afford).   He knew that Carter was an amiable fellow, and the rest were all good but ordinary soldiers.  He knew this.  
   
But that they were all part of the most extensive tunnel system in Europe that was not the London Underground?    
   
No, that he did not know.

"How does it all stay up?" Klink gasped, bewildered at the sheer scope of the diggings.  
   
"Weeelll, it doesn't always, Sir, I mean sometimes we do have some trouble with cave-ins, and some of my explosions don't always go as planned and there was that time..." Carter rambled when Klink interrupted:  
   
"You mean the sinkhole, the hot spring, the bomb crater?  That was all you?"  
   
"Yes and no" answered Shurtlieff before Carter could continue, "Carter's a modest guy, and you'll soon find out he blames himself more than he ought.  If you haven't figured out, Sir, he's our demolitions expert and a darned good one, to have to work down here with second-hand, jerry-rigged gear, turning scrap and junk into usable weapons that work when they have to, and not a minute before." She gave several of her brothers-in-arms, (which included the rest of the core group and a few denizens of Barracks 2 & 9, who were standing off to the sides, gawking at Klink's gawking) the stink-eye as she went on:  "From all the teasing, you'd think Andrew was a menace, but we've had more cave-ins and tunnel damage from rain and snow melt than Carter's blasts.  He works miracles down here, with supplies that wouldn't make the grade back at the Bridgeport High science lab.  Right, Colonel?"  
   
"She's right, Kommandant.  We wouldn't have had half of the success that we've had without him.  And these tunnels are the combined efforts of pretty much our original camp population, started before I even got here, so the credit for this engineering wonder should go to Kinch and Co."  
   
"Amazing!  I can scarcely credit my eyes.  And communications, the machine shop, the forgery press, the darkroom and ... a mostly assembled aeroplane?  Fantastisch!"  
    
" 'Ere now you've given short shrift to me bailiwick: wardrobe, make-up, barber shop, guest accommodations" a poke in the ribs from LeBeau for forgetting the honorific, Newkirk added, "Sir."  
   
"Forgive me, Corporal, you have all done wonders with nothing, it is like Aladdin's Cave, so filled with marvels one can only remember the last things seen."  
   
Hogan smiled, "Kommandant, you don't need to lay it on so thick, it was a lot of hard, back-breaking work but..."  
   
"Ah, Colonel Hogan?  I, too, would have compared this place to the Arabian Nights, had I more of the poet in me," said Capt. Matthias Dingle, highest ranking of the German guards turned Resistance, who had been trailing the group with delight, "and while you see the hard work, the long nights, the fears and worries, in every rough timber and dirt edge, we see the results: courage, audacity, mockery of our tormentors, all the lives saved.  For those of us newcomers, this," waves his hand at the space, "is a thing of beauty, a place of wonders, where anything can happen."  
   
"AN' it usually does," drawled Pvt. Maddy Hill, who had come up a side tunnel from the direction of the Rec Hall.  Looking straight at Dingle, he added, "Or not, dependin' on whether our teacher decides to show up fer class."  
   
"Ach, you are right, forgive me, gentlemen, I have a class to teach." He saluted Hogan first, then Klink, saying:  "Kommandant, enjoy your first day of Gymnasium", as he turned to follow Hill.  

Kinch then said to the remaining gawkers:  "Com'on guys, I think the Colonel can take it from here" and gently herded them away.  
   
"So, you have already stolen the love of my knights, eh, Colonel?" Klink raised an eyebrow in the direction of Dingle's retreat.  
   
"Not really.  I honestly think they like you more now than they did before; you gained a lot of fans when you went after Hochstetter like that after you got back from the hospital."  
   
"Anyone would have, ...wait how did you know?  No no nevermind... but honestly, anyone would have done the same; imagine, wanting to kill you because you saved a German Officer!  As likely, if you had let me die, he would have blamed you, not his own trigger-happy people, and have you killed.  The man is a frothing lunatic."  
   
Hogan snorted his agreement:  "All the more reason to hand it to you for standing up to the bast...um the jerk.  We should remind him more often that Colonel out-ranks Major...oh, and that reminds me, we need to set the ground rules: you are now a full member of the Unsung Heroes and the tunnels and the rest of this operation are open to you for the duration.  But you need to try to get along, to fit in; we're pretty informal around here.  Not a lot of heel clicking or saluting.  I won't allow the men to disrespect you or your rank, but don't expect full military protocol every time you walk into a room.  In fact, as of right now, all the experienced men, Allied or Resistance, out-rank you.  I won't let anyone turn you into their personal slave, but if Sam needs help finding a button to complete a uniform in time for a mission, or if you are paired with Shurtlieff and Hill and they say 'duck', you need to obey legitimate orders, no matter who gives them.  Will that be a problem?"

"No, I understand and agree; as my Großmutter used to say, men complain of doing women's work and women complain of doing men's work, but the work never complains and neither should I."  
   
"Smart woman, your Grandmother.  But don't look so worried; you'll always be partnered with someone more experienced until you get the hang of it.  Kinch is my second-in-command; if I'm not there, he's takes over, and everyone knows that.  Before each mission, someone in the group is designated the leader if I'm not going or if the group has to split up. You'll have to think on your feet too, but like I said, you'll be with someone who'll teach you the ropes."     
   
"Oh."  Klink saluted and turned to go.  
   
Had this been a few months ago, Hogan may or may not have picked up on Klink's pique from a single word and a twist of his lanky frame, even though Hogan has always made it his job to read Klink and his moods.  Had this been a few years ago, even if he had noticed, Hogan would not have cared that Klink was annoyed and upset.  
   
'Then' is not 'now'.  
   
'Now' is when the care and feeding of one Wilhelm Klink is more than a means to an end (and the 'end' being something else rather than the care and feeding of Klink).  'Now' is when Klink is more than just another playing piece, another pawn on the chess board; he is one of Hogan's men, whose well-being is the point of the exercise.  That, and winning the war.

So Hogan called him back:  "Wilhelm?"   
   
Klink returned, head down and hunched over, right fist clinched behind his back - a posture that Hogan hadn't seen in months.  Now he knew something was off.  
   
"Alright, what's wrong, and don't say nothing.  You were alright a few minutes ago, almost dancing on the walls.  Now you're acting like I'm Burkhalter sending you to the Russian Front, and I don't think I've gained that much weight in three minutes.  So what gives?"  
   
Klink struggled, his pride and vanity against his common sense.  For once, common sense won.  
   
"I suppose, begging the Colonel's pardon, I thought that I was no mere hanger on, but a real part of your operation.  But if you feel that I cannot contribute effectively, then"   
    
"Stop right there, Kommandant.  NOBODY is saying that you aren't a real part of the operation or that you won't be contributing!  ALL my men have gone through the same process, ask Dingle or Langenscheidt.  I sent Huntsman,"  
   
"Who?"  
   
"Pvt. Otto Wagner, he was in the local Resistance and was one of our main contacts in town, before he got himself transferred as one of your guards.  Anyways, he's the one who oversees our guards when they go on milkruns and it usually takes at least three missions before I'll let a man go on his own.   
   
"Same deal with the Allied troops.  Whenever a new guy goes outside the wire, he has at least one other experienced fella with him.  Which is why Hill was a little short with Dingle; he's been teaching the inexperienced how to act like regular Wehrmacht or Luftwaffe troops, and Hill will be one of the first grads of his class, which will allow him to go on the next mission with the rest of the core team."  
   
"So, it is not only me?"

"Nope, we use the buddy system around here; no cannon fodder in this man's Army.  Everybody gets the same treatment; only the core group didn't, because we were all learning, we all had no experience.  And believe me, I'm shocked that with all the mistakes we made, we didn't get killed the first week.  Even after half a year of bringing in and sending out downed pilots, after we got Carter and managed to get the crew honed, I still let my guys walk out the door without checking to see if they had the right fake dog-tags.  I know some of the Krauts are really dumb, but letting LeBeau impersonate 'Jack MacPherson'?   I still have nightmares.  Thank God for Schultz!  I'm putting him in for at least a Silver Star as soon as we step foot in London."  
   
"Is that a medal?  But he is not in your Army."  
   
"Actually, you're ALL in the American Army Air Corps.  Pending paperwork.  New uniforms are supposed to be coming with the next airdrop and you'll get your paychecks sent as soon as there's an Allied mailbox to received them.  Of course, you all start at an enlisted man's scale, until each of you passes the promotion tests."  
   
"You are joking."  
   
Hogan grinned:  "Don't tell the others, it's our Christmas gift to them...and you."  
   
Were this an ordinary Victorian fairy tale, one of those where the author feels that "fairy" equals "safe and simple" (the 'for children only' implied), the tale would stop here, with this good wish, and they would all lived happily ever after.

That is not how this story goes.

This is a tale of Faerie, neither safe nor simple nor for children (unless they are very wise).  
   
In a true tale of Faerie, there are always many obstacles that must be conquered before the heroes may rest, and even then, Grendel's Mother and the Dragon may still lurk in the shadows.

So it was that as Hogan reached for Klink to give him one of the American's patented shoulder squeezes, Langenscheidt walked in:

"Your pardon, mein Colonel, but it is time for Kommandant Klink to leave for the monthly meeting."

"You're driving?"

"Jawohl, Sargent Brennan and the others in Barracks 19 have given me the code words and the marked package of cigarettes.  Once I make contact, I am to get all the information I am able to confirm the camp layout and number of guards, and anything that might help us search out weaknesses in the security."

"Don't forget that we need a head count of all the guys, especially need to know how many are in the cooler and infirmary, and any release dates they know of.  Convince them that they will be pulled out of there, and soon, but we want everyone out, so we need them all to lay low and cooperate - or at least not cause any trouble -  with their Krauts, pardon the expression."

"No pardon needed.  From what I have seen, they really are Boche there; I am German and have a gun, and even I do not wish to get closer to those guards..."  
   
" 'Boche'? " a dark chuckle from the Colonel, "you really are taking your French lessons seriously."

"Will no one tell me what is going on?  Why do we care for their security?  Are we helping prisoners to escape directly from their camp?  I do not understand!"  Klink's voice taking on his habitual quaver (another trait that had been noticeably fading from Klink's repertoire).  
   
"Now just hang on, I'm getting there!   Now today's mission is intelligence gathering behind enemy lines; Langenscheidt here is going to make contact with Sargent Brennan's old CO and get us as much confirmation about the layout of the camp as possible.  From the calls and reports we've been intercepting..."  
   
"We can intercept calls?"   
   
 "Know you're new at this, but try to keep up.  Yes, we intercept calls, here and at Hochstetter's house, and the rest of the Underground pass on anything they hear too."  
   
"But that means you hear everything?  HoOO-gan!  How many of my personal calls have you heard?"  
   
"Um, all of them?  But now calm down, it's ok!  When things got really personal, we'd all leave, except for Kinch.  He's completely trustworthy and he'd only really pay attention when the conversation turned to troop movements and things like that.  Come to think of it, your mom used to pass on all kinds of useful information, and I'm almost positive she was doing it on purpose.  Think she knew something neither of us did?"  
   
"I have no idea; but you are right - she did become quite a gossip in her old age, and I thought she was just lonely."   
   
A derisive snort, and Klink continued:  "So even my mother was more use than me!  What else is new.  But why are we, who are we breaking out of Stalag 7?"  
   
"Everyone, Kommandant; everyone.  Major Kessel is getting too antsy for my tastes.  He's been making constant inquiries of Berlin, Hochstetter, everyone he can get his hands on, about how close the Allies are.  He's ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble, real or imagined, and this guy's got a heckofva imagination."  
   
"Do you think he will desert his post?  But won't that be for the better?  Why, WE could send our own people in and run that camp like we do here...could we not?  Just a word from Herr General Kinchmeyer" and Klink's eyes went round as the epiphany hit.  But before he could wail about another prank at his expense, Hogan smoothly changed the subject:  
   
"Actually, that's a swell idea!  Gotta hand it to ya, Klink, you may be new at this, but you're really on the ball tonight."  Hogan clapped Klink lightly on the back and went on:  "We'll keep that as an option, and I truly hope we can do just that, but it may not be feasible.  So now, Kommandant, I'm giving YOU an assignment to supplement Langenscheidt's job.  YOU need to pump Kessel for information; get him to confide in you.  Find out whatever he intends to do, either for himself or with his prisoners.  Offer to help in any way you can, but make sure that he feels that he can come to you for anything, for any reason.  Frightened men do frightening things; and we don't want the POWs to suffer for Kessel's paranoia."  
   
"Good, good!  Yes, I will do that!  You can count on me!"  Klink puffed up with importance, ready to launch into a spiel about how cleverly he will ensnare his quarry, when Hogan steered both the conversation and his two companions through the tunnel leading to Klink's quarters.   
   
At the foot of the ladder to the stove entrance, Hogan added one more bit of advice:  
   
"Now remember, you are a team.  You look out for each other.  Klink, if it looks like Langenscheidt's is in trouble, yell at him, go completely Prussian and send him to the car and get yourselves back here.  Langenscheidt, if it looks like someone is giving him the hairy eyeball, ask to use the phone and call here - we'll tell you to get Klink back on the double, say that there's been a fire, and that he's needed to restore order.  Got that?"   
   
"Jawohl, Herr Colonel!"  "Of course, consider it done."  
   
"Good luck." Hogan clapped Klink on the back again and steadied him as he climbed up the ladder.  When Klink was safely at the top (and out of earshot), Hogan held Langenscheidt back for a moment and whispered:  "Look after him, you know how he is, heart's in the right place, but ..., you know.  Just get him back here in one piece and yourself too ok?"  
   
"Do not worry Fraulein, I will bring your chevalier home safe."  
   
Langenscheidt didn't need the sudden silence or the forbidding sense of cold to tell him that he'd gone too far, even between friends.  He softly babbled an apology:  
   
"Herr Oberst, mein Colonel, please forgive my impertinence.  Please, I meant no harm, truly.  You are my Kommandant but you are my friend too.  I know that you were just playing your part when you were...talking...to Kommandant Klink that night."  
   
"Did you tell anyone?"  
   
"Nein, never!  I would never betray your trust.  You saved my Greta, how could I, what kind of man would I be if in return I started rumors!  Never, jamais!"  
   
A deep cleansing breath, and Hogan relaxed:  "Alright, no harm done.  And don't think I'm not your friend too, but I'm your CO first.  I can take a joke, but not like that, got it?"  
   
"Got it.  Thank you, Herr Colonel."  A salute, and Langenscheidt flew up the ladder, still mortified by his lack of respect for someone he owed so much and admired so profoundly.  
   
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
   
Hogan was still telling himself "it's a joke, just a joke, get over it Rob" when he offered to give Hilda a ride home.  
   
She accepted, and they rode out.    
   
And no one thought twice when it took Hogan a few hours to get back.   
   
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

 

Epilogue 4 – Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch (Or More Accurately, Back to the Night This All Started) (When Hogan in Drag Went to Meet that Underground Agent in Dusseldorf, Remember?)

The Ratskeller was very full; many had come to celebrate Lt. Berg's promotion to Captain.  Berg was not a great thinker, but he was not completely stupid, and he was otherwise at the peak of Aryan perfection.  So along with the promotion, Berg had been admitted to the ranks of the Lebensborn program, and would be matched with the Finnish beauty now clinging on his arm.

A very good reward, thought the organizer of the evening, as he nodded to himself, quietly observing the crowd.

Unlike the honored guest, the host, Major Johannes Faust, was a great thinker and a shining example of  the so-called Aryan type.   Although he was technically part of Mengele's and Schmidt's operation, ever ready to search out new vict...ahh, 'candidates for surveying and research investigations', he belonged equally to a special sub-unit of the Gestapo, charged with investigating the paranormal, the markedly different, and any who seemed to be “too lucky”.  Thus, even when not on duty, he was always on the alert; one never knew when a prime specimen might present itself.

Take, for instance, the mine-dwellers.  Dwarfs, kobolds, imps, brownies...call them what you will, they existed, and since the first camps had been started, he had made major inroads in destroying their decadent, untermenschen culture, and some progress into discovering their secrets (especially their great wealth).  In the last batch successfully captured and processed, he had nearly succeeded in breaking two of their elders; had his helper not been so careless, the one called Volksung would never have gotten that letter opener... nor was Berlin terribly pleased when an entire convoy was released by the Underground.  At least, that had been entirely out of his hands.  His Masters understood.  No matter how efficient or useful he himself was, he was only one person; he could not control the incompetence of others.  He smiled grimly to himself; although the Resistance had spared their lives, the fools had paid for their ineptitude.  

Still, he'd love to get his hands on the leader.  Before he died, the driver of the lead truck swore that the man was a German aristocrat, black of eye and hair, tall as a knight of yore, (never mind that most knights were far shorter than modern Aryans), handsome as he was tall, who moved as if he were born to wear the purple.  Oh, and the others called him “Papa Bear”.

A man like that would be hard to miss.  Yet no one else had marked him.  No one had even come close to finding him.  

Who was he?  Where was he?  What was he?

Could he have been one of the July traitors?

Possibly.  Many of the conspirators had been of high station.  Over 500 had fallen thus far, cleansed from the Third Reich forever.  Yet the near constant level of sabotage and success in the area since had retained the stamp of a bold, cunning, out-of-the ordinary adversary.  The signature of the same man, so he could not be numbered among the dead.

A respected, highly placed functionary then?  

Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  The raids were usually committed in the dead of night, but many acts were completed during daylight hours.  But one who worked openly for the Third Reich might well be recognized by co-workers and civilian witnesses, (unless he was disguised) and certainly his normal routines and pastimes would suffer.  Moreover, every sabotage action showed a foolish regard for human life that spoke of on-the-ground command decisions, (otherwise there would be more casualties).  

THAT spoke of a fighting unit, trained to shift with a moment’s notice.  

A fighting unit that could come and go as it pleased, without question.

Only the Gestapo could move without question these days.

Wasn’t there a Major, a Hochstetter, constantly claiming that he was on the verge of apprehending the ringleader of all the Underground activity in the area, a man named Papa Bear?  

Faust remembered Hochstetter, a dark little man constantly preening about his own cleverness while ranting about “the most dangerous man in Germany”.  To hear Hochstetter talk, you would think that this Papa Bear was Loki's own get, or perhaps Merlin released, able to shape change and hide at will.

But!

What if Papa Bear was just a front for Hochstetter himself?

Most would dismiss such a notion out of hand; Hochstetter had a reputation as a hard worker devoted to the Third Reich (with occasional lapses involving old women, children and animals, and an appalling need for actual evidence)…when he wasn’t a blustering maniac, so driven by his theories that he could not see the forest for the trees.

Faust allowed himself to seriously consider Hochstetter as an Allied agent and specifically, Papa Bear, looking at it from all angles until he dispassionately concluded that it could not be Hochstetter for two reasons: first, he was too short, no way to gain a foot in height even disguised; second, Hochstetter was too predictable as a military leader and could not have the daring of the man he sought.

Actually, were it not that the sabotage had been steady and on-going since the Summer of ’42, and for most of that time, the man had not even been on the same continent, the entire operation would smack of Erwin Rommel. 

Or someone who knew him, who was trained with or by him…

Didn’t he have an old friend in this area?  A Colonel Fink or Blink?  Faust tried to recall what he had gleaned from Hochstetter's talk; all he could remember was that the man was an utter mediocrity, best forgotten in some small office requisitioning paperclips (that, and he looked like a gaping cod fish).  All he was good for, all he was good at, was keeping the local Luft Stalag in order...apparently, the same one that held Beidenbender's great catch, one American Colonel.  A fellow by the name of …

At that precise moment, he looked up and saw someone – someone who caught his eye, and he could not look away.  
   
He studied this woman.  The clothes were simple, common, yet fitted, elegant, red skirt, black turtleneck.  Modest, befitting a woman unmarried, no ring.  A bright bird shaped pin, of the type that confuses 'gaudy' with 'rich'.  Not this one's style, a gift then.  

The crowd shifted and swirled around him, and he realized that the woman would not be able to pick him out of the rest if he stayed quite still, carefully keeping his  
head at an angle towards the bar.  He could observe without being observed, not even a chance meeting of eyes.

So still he stayed.

And the more he stared, the more he saw.

Dark hair that did not seem to move when she did.  Too much pomade?  Or a wig?

Eyes that swept the room over and over, but not too overtly.  Who was she waiting for?  A friend, a brother, a lover?  The beer at her elbow remained untouched, except for her thumb, rubbing the foam off the lip.

Hands tell much about their owners; however, between the distance, the angle and the low light, there was little to see, except that they were large hands but perfectly  
proportioned for the size of the owner.

And the woman was large.  Not 'large' as in fat or ungainly, but 'large' as in tall, very tall.  Even seated, he could tell that the woman would be taller than most of the men in this room.  

A Valkyrie.

Valkyrie.

In disguise.

As the British would say, not a beauty, but a handsome woman.  

“As handsome as he was tall.”

The driver’s words echoed back in his mind, as he remembered the name of the American Colonel.

Hogan.

Every word that he had ever heard regarding the American came whirling into his mind. 

From Burkhalter:  “Clever, very clever, very amusing.  A trickster most cunning.  He was a terror in the skies and it took an entire squadron to bring him down.  Fortunately he has been content to stay a prisoner and has been useful when the chance presents itself.  I sometimes wish that he were on our side, we could use more daring officers with intelligence on either Front.”

From Hochstetter:  “He is the most dangerous man in Germany!  He is always skulking around where he should not be, even now.   Strange things happen where ever he goes.  Klink is like flour in his hands, crumbling down to nothing whenever Hogan speaks.  Mark my words, I will have him, I will have him yet!”  

From Freitag's doxy:  "Herman was fascinated by the American; he seemed to have the greatest admiration for him.  He spoke only briefly to me of him, but in the most glowing terms."

From Mannheim (under questioning, before he was shot for Freitag's murder):  "This American had something he needed, wanted.  He said that he would trade me for him in an instant if he thought the man would be interested.  Said he was one of the most intelligent men he'd known.  And that is all he would say, since, he claimed, I was not suited to understand the discourse of my superiors."

From Beidenbender (before he...defected?):   "A complex man with a complex mind, never look for him to do a thing simply; he will make it more complicated than he has to, merely for the fun of undoing his opponents."   
   
It all fit; it all now made sense.  All that was left was to prove the theory.    
   
Visions of what he would do to prove that the lovely before him was no lady danced in his head.

So much so, that he missed the Junger Oberst's appearance by his quarry's side.  
   
An old tune began to play, and the new partners fought for dominance and balance (and what female does not know that she must follow the man, not lead?).  Swift words past between the two and they began to dance as one, as if they had been together all their lives.

When the music stopped, no matter they were the targets, Faust gave the couple their due, and applauded with the rest of the crowd.  

Especially since it would be an easy thing to pry the couple apart...when he was thwarted again!

"A round of drink for the house! Musicians, again if you please!"  
   
Their dance was as fine, nay, better than the first time and while he was angry, he could not help but admire the twosome's audacity.

The dance over, the crush of the crowd around his table near the bar made it impossible to get near the dancers.  Although he had every intention to allow the pair to leave ahead of him, a less clever ruse would have allowed him to track their departure with ease.  Now, they were both lost in the shuffle.  

Faust was forced to push his way out of the crush, leaving himself open to inquiries from his squadron mates as they inanely asked if he was leaving so soon, etcetera.  And to act as if he was in a hurry, would be to tip off others in the room that something was amiss...and Papa Bear would have back up.  
   
By the time he made it out of doors, he saw the Offizier ordering his driver to take the Flensheim Road, and watched as they drove away...the dancers looking out the back window, the Prussian pointing out who knows what...   
   
They had escaped him.

But now, he understood who his adversary was, and where to look.  He would find out who the Offizier was, too, and set his trap with the greatest of care.

To coax Papa Bear out into the open had failed too often; to hunt a great bear, the hunter must attack where no attack is feared.

One must go to his den.

The End...for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N -  Klink's remark about the stolen love of his knights is a quote paraphrased from Lord Denethor on his pyre "Now thou stealest the hearts of my knights also,..." in the Chapter, "The Pyre of Denethor" in Lord of the Rings, the Return of the King.
> 
> And while Susan M.M. has also said something very close to "We should remind him more often that Colonel out-ranks Major" in her fic "Those in Darkness", I was not quoting, but had arrived at the same conclusion.  Great minds think alike.
> 
> And for those of you who weren't familiar with the 2013 Short Story Challenge, the line "Of course there are people who don't believe in fairy tales - the fools" was one of several official prompts that were required for the challenge, and that is not my own line....my ever-lasting thanks to the Papa Bear team members who gave us/found the line. 
> 
> Finally, the notion that "men complain of doing women's work and women complain of doing men's work, but the work never complains" was not original to me, but was something I read somewhere so many years ago that nothing of the story or author remains, just the sentiment. If anybody knows whare it comes from, I'd be obliged if you would tell me so I could properly attribute same.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> For those who are interested, I have added the 'broken' links for the Wikipedia entries for Speer and Von Braun, so that you can judge how many liberties that I might have taken for yourselves. But for starters, Speer really did have a daughter (three daughters, two sons), they were all too young to be in the Resistance and none of them were adopted. 
> 
>  http://en.wikipedia dot org/ wiki/Wernher_von_Braun  
>    
> http://en.wikipedia dot org/ wiki/Albert_Speer  
>    
> I have also included broken links for three songs that I might have used if the rules allowed song lyrics, but only one of which I was listening to when I was writing the dance. All are anachronisms, but hey they work. If the links don't work, the songs are: "Annie's Song" by John Denver; "Dance with Me" by Orleans; and "Edelweiss" from the movie "The Sound of Music". Happy reading and listening!  
>    
> http://www.youtube dot com/ watch?v=HkGS263lGsQ  
>    
> http://www.youtube dot com/ watch?v=V1bFr2SWP1I&NR=1&feature=endscreen
> 
> http://www.youtube dot com/ watch?v=zuQkZD3F2EQ


End file.
